


on your mind

by seokjinnie (chinchim)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, DISCONTINUED BOYS I CAN'T DO IT, Denial of Feelings, Draco gets better at things, Episode: s01e07 Goddamn Animals, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry gets better from things, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Library, Innacurate Depictions of Feelings, M/M, Personal Growth, Slow Burn, Trauma, Unfinished, a lot of stuff happens there, and might not be therapy, but it gets the both of them better, but we don't know i might actually finish this damn thing, cuz of the stuff that happened, honestly i don't know who else, it's about, might go on, post-wizarding war, so i'm leaving that as is, unconventional therapy, we ain't sure, when i say slow burn i mean heLLA SLOW, which is also unstructured
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 06:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21239939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinchim/pseuds/seokjinnie
Summary: it's not quite all right after the war, but then it gets better. they both need it to.where Harry and Draco aren't the same as they were before the war, it isn't too late to make things work





	on your mind

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy askdkfd iss been a long time since i posted hell i didn't even finish my last fic but shhhh here we go again !!  
this fic is just me indulging myself so forgive the plot and writing for inconsistencies, and i might rewrite or edit this whenever i'll have the time again. this was written over like ,, three days and i'm still writing this at the time of publishing, so please forgive me and this, and just know that this was just supposed to be light...ish idk but please enjoy if u can and want !! by the way, none of my work is beta-d or even proofread the slightest, so if u see something, now u know
> 
> anyways, this is about harry being more reclusive before the war, and he's a jumble of feelings and they're not particularly good onces, and harry gets to learn more about draco as they go along. honestly, i didn't pay much mind to their library stint, but it will get better i hope. 
> 
> anyways, enjoy the ride !!

Frankly, he was tired of crying. Tired of bawling his eyes out at every mention of the Battle of Hogwarts. Tired of feeling sorry for himself, but damn, he really couldn’t help it. 

There was so much death that day. Too much blood spilled on the halls. Too many bodies piled up, unidentified, ready to be burned. Too many funerals attended - too many faces he didn’t know, ready to be put into the ground. 

Harry, when he’d been younger, life limited to the four walls of his cupboard, he’d read stories once. On some days, he’d gone to the library and spent most of his time there after school. The Dursleys didn’t care as much regarding where he’d gone, as he’d usually expect, as long as he’d be home after dinner so he could wash the dishes.

At first, he’d gone there since it was nearest to Privet Drive. A public, wide, quiet area where he knew that Dudley nor his friends would never find him. There, he usually found himself in the children’s corner, head buried in his knees, trying to calm his breathing down or simply gathering himself after being chased by other kids or after a tiring day at school. Then one day, when he sticked his head out of his lap for once and looked at the shelves around him, he’d finally found the books he knew were waiting for him.

The stories he’d read then, composed of fantasy and adventure - something that had once been far beyond his imagination and reach, were often about brave knights and their quests to worlds unknown. About kings who’d reclaimed their thrones after countless battles and wages of war. About the unsuspecting peasant who’d been thrown into a life of chaos only to bring it back to peace.

If only he’d known he’d become one of them someday, he thought, burying his face into his sleeves. He’d forgotten those heroes, too caught up in his own life, daunting but nonetheless fantastical at the time. He’d forgotten the amount of blood that also was on their own hands, about their trials. But then again, he didn’t need their stories _during _those times. 

Right now, Harry needed a story about a boy - tired, beaten down, and bruised (so, _badly _bruised) - and how he came back to the life he’d once had. He wanted to see how those heroes came to be after the war and bloodshed. He wanted to see if they’d have gone through something like this - the mourning, the pain. You see, there weren’t any stories about what whether or not they had nightmares, whether or not they could sleep, whether or not they could continue to walk through the same halls that were once filled with death, and whether or not they’d finally found some damn balls and stopped bloody _crying_. 

He groaned, feeling the same tears leaving his eyes as they’ve always done for the past few weeks. Harry wiped at them with frustration, willing them to stop fucking pouring out of his eyes. He looked around the library, thankful for the fact that no one was really here during the morning. He’d been frequenting the corner between the Herbology and History, thankful for the fact that they were not only the most boring subjects he knew the students thought they were (except Neville and Hermione, of course), but also because they were alphabetically sequential. Bless Merlin for that. 

He pinched his fingers over his nostrils, willing himself to keep quiet. He tried to breathe though his mouth, counting down from ten to one, just like how Ron taught him. Apparently, Ron was used to dealing with these kind of situations, considering he was usually the one there for Ginny when they were younger. Though it had been Fred and George who’d…fuck, here he was again. He took an inhale too loud, which carried throughout the room.

Harry didn’t know whether or not Madam Pince had been hearing him for the past few days, considering the fact that echoes drifted easily through the quiet walls (and he was pretty use she’d planted some eavesdropping charm in every corridor), but he was thankful for the privacy.

Privacy, he’d come to find, wasn’t exactly _hard_ to come by, but it was something he’d have to fight for before having exclusively. He was thankful for the fact that his friends were there, of course. Who wouldn’t? They’d been with him from the beginning to the end of their hardest times. Ron was there for him, keeping him level and keeping a smile on his face. Hermione had been there for him, keeping him upright and keeping him from going insane throughout it all. However, for these past few weeks, he knew in their gazes that they wanted to _know_ why he looked so sad behind his eyes. He wasn’t ready for that.

He loved them, and they knew that, but he knew that they wouldn’t understand his grief, ‘cause bloody hell, he didn’t understand it as well.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t just move on. He didn’t know why he always felt his heart being crushed between his ribs. He didn’t know why he felt his throat constrict, feeling choked up whenever he got too lost in his thoughts. It was always bloody annoying, but then again, here he was, facing a new enemy. 

He was tired. So bloody tired. 

Harry rolled his eyes, letting a breath out. He looked out to the window instead, to the vast world of Hogwarts outside. One, two, three, he breathed in. One, two, three, he breathed out. He thought of Buckbeak, riding on his back, gripping her soft feathers as they cut through the air, flying all around. He thought of Quidditch, when he’d dived through the air and caught his very first snitch for the first time. He smiled, closed his eyes, and breathed in once again.

He could feel the wind in his hair again.

*

Eighth year in Hogwarts was something he was unsure about, at first. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to continue his studies, nor was it about the people. It was about the castle, rebuilt from its ashes with materials new and old. There was still death that roamed its halls as the number of ghosts had grown larger. Thankfully, he had not seen anyone he knew immediately, which meant that they’d all passed peacefully.

He had been part of the people who’d volunteered to help with the repairs. Those days passed in a blur, as he helped stack one brick atop the other, not caring who had been beside him. They had all lost, and they were now all connected. They were all friends, forged in sorrow and grief. 

After each block, he’d say a word in his head. In the Gryffindor Tower, he’d dedicated one to Fred. In the staircase near the Astronomy Tower, he dedicated one to Lavender. In the building nearest to the Whomping Willow (which, to his amazement, seemed unbothered despite having “fought” in the battle herself), he dedicated two for Remus and Tonks. There were countless others he’d dedicated his efforts too, names too far for him to remember now. He’d paid them proper respects, yet the weight didn’t lift from his chest.

On their last day, when he’d regained some consciousness after living in his head, Professor - now Headmistress - McGonagall had asked him to say a few words.

“From a student I knew since he was merely a baby wrapped in a soft cloth, he’d grown up to be one of the greatest wizards of our time,” the Professor started, knowing eye already trained on him. He only noticed once Ron had whacked him over on the head, gesturing pointedly. “From a boy who always caused me something close to a heart attack every school year, to a man who has now calmed my heart and the hearts of us all, who now have nothing to fear in the darkness. To Harry Potter, who has been with us from the beginning to the end. To the Boy who Lived, and the boy who continues to live with us to this very day. To Harry!”

“To Harry!” all of them echoed, the walls of the Great Hall magnifying their voices in his ear. He felt his heart squeeze, muscles tense. “To Harry!”

He heard the beat of his heart once again, and looked to all of them again. He looked around to the faces he knew and to ones he didn’t. They were all looking at him, all with gratitude, adoration, and trust. It knocked the air from his lungs. 

He didn’t know that he’d been crying them until Ron and Hermione stood up, cradling him in their arms. With a laugh, he shrugged them off lightly, their eyes brightening once they saw him smile. They let him go, and he turned around to face the crowd once again. He’d grown accustomed to giving speeches this time in his life. 

“I never asked all of you to fight for or with me,” he started, trying to look them all in the eye. “But for doing so, I am always grateful. Despite our victory, even we aren’t immune to loss.” 

After a pause, he continued. “We’ve seen the people we love die on this very ground we stand in, and we have said our goodbyes. It is with that I wish to let you know that it is truly brave of you to come back here and help rebuild our school. As most have you have been in these halls when death had lurked in every corner, I can imagine what its like to walk here again, probably feeling empty and cold.

“I am not the only one who has fought, lost, and come back from the dead, ‘cause I think all of us, a part of ourselves at least, died during the battle.” As his voice echoed the walls, he didn’t stop talking for the fear of crying again. “So as we step back into our lives again, I hope that we’ve rebuilt ourselves piece by piece as well. I hope that we come back braver and stronger than we were before. Hogwarts will always be our home, and we will always come to help those in need. It’s okay to feel weak, and it’s okay to feel lonely, because we have the people around us who will always be there.” He looked meaningfully at Ron and Hermione then, seeing moisture build up in their eyes.

“I dedicate this victory, and this effort for Hogwarts, to all of us, to those who have died and to those who are with me today. It is our victory to cherish, and it is never our burden to carry alone. We all have each other, and let no other wars change that.”

He didn’t even notice the crack in his voice, the cheers now drowning his own sobs out. Starting from his two friends, more and more came around him, wrapping him in an embrace. After a while, his arms wrapped around his friends, now his _family_, and he’d felt happy once again.

*

It was kind of surreal to believe that he was actually here in Hogwarts, where everything was the same yet so…foreign at the same time. During his first few weeks, he could barely roam the halls normally without Ron and Hermione by his side. Even though he’d been one of the people to rethink the layout of the campus, he’d still get lost in the halls one way or another. The reason behind this was completely beyond him. He’d also been losing track of time lately, giving way to his multiple absences or tardies in some of his classes.

Another reason why he couldn’t believe his presence _anywhere_ for that matter was that, despite his speech, he kind of had a hard time speaking in any other context. Thankfully, no one else noticed (that much) but those that mattered. 

Aside from that, he’d had a hard time keeping up with other people, case in point, Ginny. When he was conscious enough, he could sometimes catch her stealing glimpses of him, part concerned, part anticipating. He kind of wanted to kick himself in the shin for that.

It was kind of dickish of him to do, in hindsight. Kiss Ginny, fully knowing that he was partly confused with his feelings and that she was in no way confused with hers. Having been too caught in the moment of impending death, he didn’t think about that, since his mind saw nothing clearer than the most probable romantic experience he’d had once in his life. 

He also hadn’t been one to visit Hagrid much, aside from the few chance encounters they’ve had on the campus. He hadn’t been off to visit the Headmistress after seeing her during the Opening Ceremony, even though she was fully expecting him to do so. He hadn’t been talking with Seamus, Dean, Neville, nor Luna lately, given that they were part of the few of his friends who’d returned for the year. 

The last reason why he couldn’t believe the fact that he was living and breathing was because he was now more absent than ever. It usually took Ron or Hermione only a few taps on the shoulder to turn him back into the fully functional Harry Potter everyone knew, but now it took more than that. Ron now frequently resorted to flicking his forehead or slapping his thigh in the extremes. Hermione also took to shouting in his ear, which had caused him to spill food onto his cloak more than once. 

He was just so…out of it, ever since he’d come back from the war. It had already been _two months_ since it happened, and the people around him had adjusted to this better than he had. Damn, and he’d had the audacity to claim so much about moving on when he hadn’t even made the bare minimum. 

He didn’t know why, but there didn’t seem to be anything much in him that he knew. When he’d stare off into space and drift off to his mind, he could only think about Sirius, his mum and dad, Remus, and thought about why didn’t he just…go. 

It would have been fine. Neville had killed Nagini, which he was sure would happen regardless once he’d heard his voice echo through the courtyard. McGonagall or Ron or Hermione could have finished off Voldemort, he knew that they were brave and powerful enough to do it. He had already lived out his life as a symbol of hope, and even in death, they would have that. And even in death, Harry could have been happy.

There he was again, going on in his spiral of thoughts, of the ‘could have been’s, ‘should have been’s, and ‘would have been’s. He didn’t really know why his thoughts just naturally spiralled there lately. They just…did, and he’d stay silent and stare off into the table, thin air, or the tapestry atop his bed. 

The worst happened when he just spent three straight hours holed up with his curtains drawn, staring at the ceiling. He’d apparently been deaf and blind to all the people calling him, trying to wake him up. He’d scared Hermione so much since he looked dead, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. It had taken Madam Pomfrey a bucket of water to wake him up. Not even magic had woken him up.

He shuddered thinking of how…utterly bad he’d been getting the past few weeks in Hogwarts alone. Even in the Burrow, he hadn’t felt this bad. During the month of repairs, it was natural for him to feel this bad since it was a fresh wound. But now, he should have been healed - scar presumably closed and new skin supposedly formed. 

As he stepped in front of the new tapestry, no longer the Fat Lady, but a new Golden Knight, a lion’s skin draped over his shoulders. “Password,” he quipped, voice echoing though the staircase. 

“As-“ he started, then realised. _Fuck_, he thought. _Bloody bugger, I forgot_. The knight just cocked his neck to the side. 

He physically whacked his head. “Asphite?” he tried, furrowing his brows. Silently, the knight shook his head. “Aspirin?” he tried again, however knowing that whatever the medicine was was beyond the knight.

“It’s asphodel, Potter,” a voice came from behind him, exasperated, but with no real malice. Of course, it was Malfoy. 

To that, the knight buried its sword in the soil, and the door opened. There were no words said as the blond made his way inside, nor were there any looks exchanged. He just looked to the ground, part frustration and part embarrassment. 

With a heavy sigh, he stepped into the Common Room, ignoring everyone and going straight for his bed.

*

“Harry,” Hermione said, voice seemingly far off. “Harry, wake up.”

The sound of cupboards being drawn and the shower running grew louder, and he finally opened his eyes. The sunlight nearly blinded him, since his curtains were apparently drawn already. With a stretch, he sat up and peeked up at Hermione. 

She was already holding her bag, and she had apparently gotten his clothes ready for him. At that, he gave her a small smile. “Good morning,” 

With sad eyes, she smiled back. She opened her arms, and he didn’t even think before drowning in her embrace. Physical contact, he found, was grounding, and there was no way he’d pass on one of her hugs.

“I’m worried about you,” she whispered, only for him to hear. She started to stroke his hair, rubbing comforting circles at his nape. “Ron and I are. The others too.”

He sighed, burying his face into her neck. He didn’t really care about his roommates, and with a start, he didn’t know what their names or faces were. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I know.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Harry,” she soothed, tightening her embrace. “We’ll always be here for you.”

He shut his eyes once again, slowly being lulled to sleep. “I know.”

He felt sad again, but he was already dreaming.

*

It was a week after that when he finally met with the Headmistress. Honestly, he didn’t even count the days, read as: couldn’t even count the days, and just based it on the last date he’d remembered writing on his notebook. As he made his way onto the top of the stairs, he still stopped to admire the change in decor. From the eagle he’d remembered seeing in Dumbledore’s quarters, now there was an all-seeing (at least he thought of as all-seeing) feline in its stead. It warmed him, regardless.

After a few knocks, he’d heard the Professor’s voice and stepped into the room. It was now flooded in the sunlight, and it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust before he noticed that it was because the window to the terrace was open for once. It was a nice change as well.

The Headmistress seemed to be naturally accustomed to her new office. Despite the small, newfound respect he’d revered to Snape after his death, he never truly saw him as a fitting Headmaster. Now seeing his former Head of House sitting behind the desk, spectacles on just like the way his Headmaster had them, it felt right. He moved to sit on the right seat across her. 

“Yes, Headmistress?” he asked, polite smile on his lips. As she looked up, he saw her eyes, and he faltered for a second. _Why did they all look sad when they saw him_?

Clearing her throat, she put her paper and spectacles down. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been summoned by a Headmaster for this long, I see,” she remarked, a small smile on her wiry lips. He mirrored it, remembering the countless times he’d been in this same office.

“Indeed so,” he agreed, looking around the room. “I like what you’ve done with the place, though, Headmistress. It suits you.”

“Oh, dear boy,” she cooed, looking around as well. “I’m rather proud of it myself. Took a few more splashes of color and finally, it looked just right.”

At the pause, she went straight to her point. “Mr. Potter, I see that you haven’t been taking to your classes well,” she reported, and he tried not to look phased. “I’ve also heard from your friends that you’ve been feeling quite…off, so I may say.”

He pulled his lips to a thin line, looking down at his hands. “I guess you could say so, Professor.”

At his short reply, she frowned. “Would you like to talk about it?” she started, and he looked at her. She was being open with him now, as the Professor who had cared for him and protected him for all these years. “With me?”

However, he didn’t have it in himself. Not now. Not when he didn’t know. His throat clenched.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said, and he meant it. He hoped that the warmth would spread through his words. “Maybe some other time.”

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” she said instead, voice light, welcome. “But I hate to have you know that I’ll have to enforce disciplinary action due to your poor punctuality.”

His lips quirked up at that. He didn’t expect less of her. “Yes, Headmistress, I’m aware.”

“But I’m aware of your situation, at least to an extent, so do not fret about its severity,” she assured, eyes warm and gleaming. “So in order for me to lessen you possible punishment, why don’t you help me sort through some of these papers here?”

He smiled. This was enough for him.

*

It was on the fifth time he’d missed his meeting with Ron that the other had finally had enough.

“Harry bloody Potter, are you even aware of yourself?” he asked, fingers coursing through his hair. At the lack of an immediate response, Harry heard his voice raise by a little bit. “Did you even hear what I said?”

In truth, he hadn’t, and it took him a second to recuperate to assess his surroundings. He was sitting in the Common Room all alone, staring into the hearth, which was also the only source of light in the room. It was around midnight. He came here after classes. He lost track of time.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft. Looking up, he saw that Ron was livid enough to smack the entire couch over his head with his bare hands. He felt his throat tighten.

With a roll of the other’s eyes, he felt his chest tighten as well. “Harry, you’re my best mate, and I’ve been waiting…bloody _waiting_ until you’d trust me enough to tell me what’s going on,” he said, voice level but the frustration was still bleeding through. “But it’s been two bloody months, mate, since you’ve been like this.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, still looking into the other’s eyes. 

With his brows furrowed, the other shook his head. “That ain’t gonna cut it, mate,” he said, burying the balls of his hands to his eyes. “You haven’t been you in a long damn while, and I’ve had enough of it, mate. I’ve been trying to get you out of there, out of your bloody head, and yet you _still won’t budge_.

“Hermione and I have been worried out of our minds! Your friends are worried too! Bloody hell, you haven’t even spoken something more than a few words for these past days. We know you’re eating, we know you’re sleeping, even if it’s a bit too fucking much, but it’s so much worse than that,” he stopped, and breathes. Harry can see the moisture in the other’s eyes. “We fucking _miss_ you mate. I miss my Harry, and I know Hermione says that we should give you time, but this is too bloody much. I miss my mate, and I know you’re still in there, even if there’s some shit blocking you from coming out. Harry, I -“

Ron choked on the last few words, and finally broke down, falling to his knees. Harry kneeled forward, not even needing a cue. He crawled to his best friend, his best mate who he’d been worrying and ignoring all this time. He wrapped his arms around the Ron he’d grown up with and faced death with. He buried his face into the neck of one of the first and only people who’d shown him kindness in the first years of his life.

“I’m sorry, Ron,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please, Harry,” Ron said through sobs. “We’re here for you, mate, just come back to us, please.”

He would try. He’d start trying. He’ll do it for them.

*

The next time he’d been summoned by Professor McGonagall, he wasn’t alone. 

“Sit, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” she gestured, to which they obliged. “We have matters to discuss.”

They barely even spared each other a look, much less a greeting. Harry guessed that (at least on his end) it wasn’t even out of malice or spite. There’d just been…nothing going on between him and Malfoy. The once strong feud had also burned up in the Room of Requirement. Now, there was nothing really left to acknowledge.

She looked between the two of them, noticing the lack of…anything from both parties. Nevertheless, she placed her hands on the desk.

“Both of you have had multiple absences and tardy remarks on your attendance sheets for the majority of the start of the year,” she began, looking sternly at the two of them. “Given that you are eighth years, it is obvious the reason why this behaviour is especially detrimental to your futures, and is therefore, worthy of disciplinary action.”

Neither he nor Malfoy seemed to flinch. She continued. “Considering that I know very well that the two of you were involved in the war, I say now that I am aware of the possible compromises the two of you have on your mental states. Therefore, I assure you that I have taken that into consideration during the processing of your cases,” she confides, at their their small nods, she moves on. “So, I shall see to it that the both of you are on records and library duty every day after school for two hours, until the day Madam Pince sees fit. The two of you will be acting as her apprentices, and she will be guiding you as you help her in her duties. Are there any current objections?”

“No, Headmistress,” he said, as the other replied: “None, Professor.”

With a nod, she spoke once again. “The plan I have left unto Madam Pince, and you will be under her guidance, scrutiny, and mercy. If I hear any reports of misdemeanour or insubordination, you will be given a much heavier sentence, is that understood?” They both nodded in agreement.

“Furthermore,” she started, and looked meaningfully at both of them. “I will require the two of you to talk to each other in every meeting. Even just a few words, as long as it would make for a full conversation. And - yes, Mr. Malfoy? Is there a problem?”

Harry then turned to the blond, finally looking at him fully. His arm had been raised when he’d called the Professor’s attention, and was slowly making its way back to his lap. Harry cocked an eyebrow, but Malfoy wasn’t looking at him.

“What is the…goal of this?” he asked, voice holding no fire and merely genuine curiosity. 

He remembered the time they’d gotten into detention and sent to the Forbidden Forest. Now, there were no calls for anyone’s father, blames put on the other, nor challenges to be won. He snapped back to reality.

The Headmistress then smiled and looked knowingly at him. For whatever reason, that was beyond him. “I believe that talking is able to achieve wonders, as has happened for myself,” she said, looking between the two of them. “Since it has come to my attention that neither of you seem to be yourselves as of late, I’d like to help you with that. Friendship can be forged anywhere, as we have learned over the years. I’d like to see if that would help the two of you.”

At her response, neither of them spoke to rebut her. She smiled. “As I was saying, I’d like two of you to hold a conversation, may it be within the working hours or outside - it doesn’t matter. It just has to be you two, and it has to be deemed at least a full conversation with at least two topics with insights from the two of you. Furthermore, this must happen every _weekday_. However, the weekends will be considered as extra credit. Are those conditions fair?”

They both nod. “I expect a full report from the both of you at every Monday, considering this and the library shifts will start on Monday next week. Is all understood?”

They both nod again. _Wasn’t this interesting to the Professor?_, he thought, sinking into his seat a little more. “Very well, now I’d like to have a word with Mr. Potter for a while, but Mr. Malfoy, please stay outside. I’d like to speak with you as well. This won’t take as long.”

After shooing Malfoy with a flick of her wrist, she turns her full attention onto Harry, who was now just starting to process the gravity of the situation. After looking at the utter disbelief that might be in his eyes, she chuckled. “Are you quite alright, Harry?” she asked, hand reaching over the desk.

He thinks about it for a second before reaching his own hand over. He straightened up. “I am, Professor,” he said, nodding slightly. “But…I don’t see how making me talk to Malfoy will…achieve anything?”

She looked at his eyes, now searching and genuinely curious. Seeming to have found what she had been looking for, she smiled. He really didn’t know how Headmasters and Headmistresses seemed to at least _think_ (though it really turned out to be _know_) they knew the answer to all the questions in the universe, especially when dealing with teenagers.

“You may not know this, Mr. Potter,” she started, straightening up, the smile and light never leaving from her eyes. “But I feel like you and Mr. Malfoy have a lot more in common than meets the eye.”

To that, he reeled back. He and Malfoy? It just didn’t make sense. “I…I, Professor,” he mumbled out, at a loss for words.

To that, she let out a chuckle. “I know it sounds preposterous, but trust me,” she assured, rubbing comforting lines across his hands. “I believe that you may be able to help each other through…whatever you may be going through. Just tell me if something goes wrong, or if you think that I am indeed wrong with my assumptions.”

He was about to open his mouth, but then the Professor pat his hand and withdrew. “Just try it once, Mr. Potter,” she said, final. “I know how you had adventures of all kinds in your previous years, so just treat this as one. I believe you might need something new to look forward to.”

To that, he was now dismissed.

As he exited the room, thoughts swimming around in his head, confusion, anticipation, confusion, fear, and more confusion. He barely noticed Malfoy at the other side of the door, and he wasn’t sure if he actually hit the other in the face with the door (albeit _softly_, since Harry didn’t have enough strength these days to actually shove the door open). Either way, he made his way to the Eighth Year Tower, ready to shove his face into the pillow and mull all this over.

*

Apparently, he wasn’t even able to make it to his shared quarters ’til he was cornered by his friends.

“Harry!” they said in unison, Hermione grasping his wrist while Ron was ready to grapple him to the ground. At his call, he turned around, blinking a little at the sudden attention. At that, they both offered him a smile. He was just thankful that Ron _hadn_’_t_ jumped his person.

“Care to sit for a bit?” Hermione asked, hopeful. The same spark lit up in Ron’s eyes as they made eye contact. 

He was trying to get better. He was going to get better. He nodded.

They made room for him on the rug of the Common Room as they sat in front of the fire. Hermione immediately squished her way in between him and Ron, slightly embracing the two of them as she threw her arms around their shoulders. It was almost like a chokehold, but he wasn’t complaining.

“How was your day?” she asked, holding his gaze. She was very visibly joyed to be with Harry somewhere other than his bed. At the thought, he furrowed his brows. “Ron and I didn’t see you during class.”

He scratched the back of his ear, looking towards the fire. “I…went to the library,” he admitted. “Can’t keep the NEWTS away forever, can I?” There was the lie. He just hid himself away in his usual corner, refusing to go anywhere with actual people until he got his shit together.

She apparently saw through him, but she played on anyway. “What do you have to study to become an Auror?” she asked, genuinely curious. “Isn’t it all just…physical ability and combat spellwork?”

“Well, ‘Mione,” Ron butted in, jokingly defensive. “Becoming an Auror has different…_facets, _if you will.” Both he and Hermione couldn’t even hold in their snorts. “And there are a lot of things that you can specialize in when you become an Auror. Sure, there’s the one who catch evil and keep it in a chokehold, but there are also the Unspeakables, the Curse Breakers, and other departments we aren’t even privy to. There’s a lot of paperwork and actual brains that go into Aurors, y’know?”

Hermione couldn’t even help her laugh as he stopped his monologue, and Harry smiled fondly at his friend. “Yeah, thanks for the exposition, Ron,” she said sweetly, turning her full gaze to Ron as she stroked his cheek. 

Ron visibly turned beet-red at the attention, and cleared his throat. “I-I’m not that inclined to the paperwork, so I’m just focusing on charms and defence now, Harry,” he informed instead, pointedly trying to keep his attention on him, to which Harry smiled at. “Have you thought about what you’d be taking? In the future? I might be able to offer some help.”

He flinched slightly, since he actually…hadn’t thought about anything related to work and life outside of Hogwarts. He wasn’t sure. But he hoped that didn’t show.

“I’m just trying to get a feel for everything, I guess,” he tried instead, looking up at the two of them sheepishly. He opened his mouth up to say more, but nothing left his lips. He didn’t know what to say.

They nodded instead, and understanding filled into Hermione’s eyes. “Maybe we could go out sometime,” she suggested, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You never know what you’d find there, even at Hogsmede.”

He snorted. “And we’ll what, find my passion while we’re hammered?”

Ron laughed at that, and Hermione playfully hit him (actually, not really, ‘cause it _hurt_) on his shoulder. “I wasn’t exactly suggesting a _pint_,” she admitted, rather crossly. “But we could always have one, I guess.”

“There’s a party!” Ron exclaimed after his laughing fit. “Seamus is hosting, and I’d bet they’d be happy to have you.”

Maybe they saw how he visibly blanched, so it wasn’t brought up again. However, no awkward silence passed as Hermione slowly rubbed circles on his back. “Y’know, I haven’t had a proper drink in so long,” she said to the both of them, looking back and forth. “You’d think we’d need it most right now, yet no one’s even offered me a proper jug of Rosmerta’s Finest.”

“Same here,” Ron affirmed, gaze drawn to the flames. “Almost feels like I’m becoming a monk. Here I am, at the prime of my life, being totally _sober_. Thank Merlin I’m not celibate.”

“Ronald!” Hermione almost screamed, to which he laughed at. She started to smother Ron with a pillow, and Harry couldn’t help but feel some warmth spread through his chest. He kept laughing and laughing, even though it sounded soft to his own ears. 

Once they’d stopped fighting, Hermione immediately looked to him, and something might’ve been on his eyes, ‘cause the two of them immediately enveloped him in an embrace. Apparently, he’d cried.

“It’s okay, mate,” Ron shushed, strong arms holding him down to earth. Down to the real world. “It’s just us. We’re here.”

Hermione kept on cooing in his ears, comforting and numbing. “It’s okay, Harry. We love you.”

It was nice like that. He didn’t even notice it was gone ’til sleep caught up with him first.

*

Two days after his meeting with the Headmistress, he was ordered to go to Madame Pomfrey for a check-up. What for, he didn’t know. He just guessed that he might’ve missed his annual. 

He perched himself on the foot of the bed nearest to the healer’s counter, so he was sure that they could see him. As he surveyed the area (a habit he couldn’t shake of after everything), he saw that there were only a few students, mostly composed of the younger years perched on their beds, sleeping or faking it to probably skip classes. He didn’t even think of that.

In all fairness, it was Friday, and Harry saw that the library was actually more peaceful the closer the days were to the weekends.

When he finally looked to the bed opposite his own, he almost jumped as he saw grey eyes looking at his own. He sufficed this with a nod instead. 

“Hullo, Potter,” Malfoy greeted, lips perfectly set in a straight line. “McGonagall also send you?”

He nodded, looking to the healers, seeing that they all seemed to be pre-occupied. It seems like they’ve increased in number after the war, probably decreasing the load on Pomfrey shoulders after all she’d healed. It was nice of them.

“Why’d you reckon we’re here?” Malfoy asked, still looking at him. 

Harry shrugged, looking for some healers he knew. Maybe there were some familiar faces during the reconstruction. Malfoy’s eyebrow twitched. “We never even had proper annual check-ups in the last years,” the blond said instead, following his gaze.

At the silence, Malfoy looked at him again, veins in his neck visible through the cloak. Harry stared back. “How are you?” he tried again.

Harry nodded. “Fine.” 

That seemed to be the last straw for Malfoy, air immediately growing thin and cold. “Too low for proper words, am I, Potter?” he said, spitting his name out like bile. Like he used to.

“No,” he said, sighing. His eyes dropped to his hands, hoping that Malfoy would just give up on the conversation. “Sorry,” he added, since he was, even a little bit for becoming a piss-poor conversationalist after everything that happened.

Frankly, he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He wouldn’t know what to say. Besides, he’d only have to start trying tomorrow. He didn’t even need to look up to imagine Malfoy’s face as a bitter laugh filled the air between them. No other attempts at conversation were made after.

Finally, after around fifteen minutes of waiting, one of the healers called Malfoy’s attention, and they lead him to the private clinic at the far corner of the wing. 

He looked up at the ceiling, which was no longer composed of imposing white, but was now a window. He stared up at the afternoon sky, which was surprisingly, a nice shade of blue. He barely even looked up as he’d been helping with the repairs for this part of the castle. He’d always looked down to the soil, to the powdered blocks, to the dust and dirt that covered all of the floors. He wasn’t able to appreciate the sky as much as he liked anymore.

When they were still camping out in the woods, or whichever part of Europe they’d found themselves in during those days, it was the night sky he liked the most. It was after they’d been talking about Horcruxes, planning their next moves, when he needed to decompress and just…breathe. When the tug of the Horcrux to himself, to his own part of Voldemort, was strongest during the night, that was when he really needed to go outside.

The winds had always been chilly wherever they went, and there were always stars, so far away from the city. He’d look up, trying to find some animals, some patterns, even the figures that he’d once read about before. It was like he left reality, for once in that time of his life. He didn’t even think of looking at his back, knowing that their protective spells and charms were enough protection for him to get some time away.

A finger tapped his shoulder, and he looked back down to the present. A younger nurse smiled at him, gesturing to the door. Malfoy was done, he assumed. 

The inside of Madame Pomfrey’s own office was different from the Headmistress’, even Slughorn’s. Sure, that was to be expected given the difference in their positions. However, neither of the two professors had offices that looked quite like…a home. 

“Sit, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said, gesturing to the seats (more like miniature couches) that sat in front of her desk. He was almost reminded of Umbrige, but it felt different from what her office had been then. “Would you like something to drink, eat? Do you need any tonics?”

He gave her a small smile. “No, thank you,” he said, having just eaten something (fuck, he didn’t even know _that_) from the Great Hall. 

She nodded, putting on her best smile. “I’ll just perform cast some charms to make sure you’re physically up to shape, and then I’ll just need to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?” she asked. He nodded. She gestured him to the bed somewhere off to the right. Fascinatingly, it was a little like the Muggle beds they had for patients. 

Madame Pomfrey waved her wand a few times, and graphs and other things came floating above him. At the lack of any visual tell from her face, he guessed that he was fine. Honestly, there wasn’t really anything wrong with him there. 

“I see you’ve lost a bit of weight, Mr. Potter,” she said, sounding neither judgemental not concerned. It was a statement of fact, and a fact that was neither life-threatening nor abnormal. “Is there a new diet you’re on?”

He shook his head. “Got used to eating like before,” he admitted, seeing no reason to lie to a _healer_. 

“By before you mean…?” The answer was in his eyes and she understood. “And you haven’t even grown an inch taller young man,” she commented instead, lightly, to which he smiled as well. He couldn’t have everything, he guessed.

“Based on the charts, it seems like your levels of melanin have increased slightly, based on your last chart,” she stated on, continuing. “Have you been slee-“

“Melanin,” he asked, when his brain caught up with what she just said. That was a Muggle term. Wizards and witches didn’t even know what those kind of hormones were. He’d only known about them through some books in his _older_ library. “Madame Pomfrey, how do you know that?”

At his interest, a spark lit up in her eyes. “Though I may not seem it,” she started, eyes flicking from him to her charms. “Muggle studies always fascinated me when I was still developing my craft. After all, their studies of medicine are far more intricate, I may say, than the ones I’ve encountered here.”

He gulped, nodding slowly. “Do you use these kinds of terms regularly now?” he asked, genuinely curious. “How do the other students react?”

“I only say these things with the half-bloods,” she admitted, a smile growing fondly. “They’re often too sleepy or unconcerned to notice that I’ve been noticing something I shouldn’t in wizarding medicine. And I know you were raised by muggles, so I also wanted to know if you’d know some of these things. So thank you for noticing.”

He blushed at that. Still, it came as a shock. “And yes,” he said instead, not knowing what to do with that information. “I’ve been sleeping more often.”

“I’ll just do a quick check on something, then,” she said, and continued to check for something using a new set of charms. It was a few moments before she spoke again.

“There seems to be an..imbalance in your brain,” she stated, still looking at her charts. “Would you like me to prescribe some tonics for you?”

“Do you have any muggle pills with you, Madame Pomfrey,” he opted to ask instead. “They might work better.”

To that, she let out a chuckle. “Dear boy, have some faith in your own wizarding medicine, would you?” she replied instead, flicking her wrist. “I do admit to using muggle knowledge to help _diagnose_, but I still believe that the tonics and potions I brew can still do their tricks.”

To that, he just nodded. He remembered the sleeping pills he used to take before in the summer of his fifth year, when Dudley and Uncle Vernon started to snore too loud, and when he couldn’t stop having nightmares. They worked just fine, and if he were honest, the sleeping drought, though admittedly more effective, wasn’t as kind as it was to his tongue. Either way, he’d take it.

“Sit up now. Apparently, most of your bodily functions are in order, except for your hormonal levels, which I can help you with.” Madame Pomfrey said, when all her notes had been jutted down and filed away. At the delay in his movement, she asked again. “Or would you like to talk lying down?”

He just sat up, figuring it was easier if he could go through a whole conversation without falling asleep. God, he hoped that whatever potion Pomfrey would prepare for him worked to solve…whichever problem she deemed he had. 

“Well, Mr. Potter,” she started, situating herself in her seat. She had kind eyes, and they didn’t look away from his own. “How have you been? After the war?”

“Different,” he answered, with all the truth that he could muster. It was fairly obvious that he hadn’t been the same Harry he was when he hadn’t come back for their seventh year, yet he didn’t know how to phrase that in a way that explained everything. ‘Cause he didn’t know how to explain everything.

She nodded solemnly. “So I’ve heard,” she admitted, looking down to the papers on her desk. “Do you still have thoughts about it?”

“Yes,” he answered, not even bothering to think about another answer.

“Even in your dreams?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“The people we’d lost,” he answered. 

She nods at that as well, jotting something new down with her quill. “How often would you say you’ve been thinking about those things?”

“More than I should,” he settled on. He didn’t bother to count the minutes nor the hours since he couldn’t really. He’d been losing time, and time had been going too fast for him these past days.

“Indeed,” she said, nodding. The small smile never left her lips, and he was starting to feel uneasy. “How do you feel?”

“About what, Madam?” he asked, hopefully polite.

“Yourself,” she clarified, looking at him again. “The way you are now, after the war.”

He didn’t have a good answer. He just shrugged. Apparently, she wouldn’t take that as an answer, and nodded her head in encouragement. _Think_, _Mr. Potter,_ she seemed to tell him, so he did what he did best nowadays.

First, he’d felt happy. In the few days just after the war, sure, that was a given. Salazar, the worst threat to their entire lives as a people was gone because of him, and now everyone had felt a lot safer in their lives. He was able to pride himself with that, and he could feel it from everyone he passed by. In all their cheers, their hugs, their pecks on his cheek, he was able to feel it, and he would always be grateful for that.

Then, he started to feel the grief, inching upon him. After each body he’d seen buried, burned, or never seen in all reality, he’d felt himself slowly getting weaker. After respects were paid, he would always feel the guilt. He could feel the knowledge that he could have and should have done something to prevent this. He could have done something to keep them safer from all of this.

Then, he’d felt empty. And he guessed that he was feeling that until today. Even after everyone else had moved on, even after everyone else was now once again pre-occupied with their lives, even after everyone else seemed to have a smile on their face once again, he was the only one who couldn’t. He’d been missing out on his friends, his family, his _life_, and he just kept on standing by and _taking it up his ass_. He’d not been himself, and he let himself get this far.

“Disappointed,” he settled on, letting the answer out, feeling strangled. As he felt his chest constrict, the touched his cheek, and indeed, he _fucking_ cried. He dabbed at his face fiercely, looking down.

“It’s okay to feel this way, Harry,” she said, eyes looking as open as they could - welcoming. However, she didn’t come closer to him, giving him space to breathe. “We all go through things differently, some faster than others, and some slower as they give themselves _time_.”

“Isn’t it too much, Madame Pomfrey?” he asked instead, when his voice was steady and his cheeks no longer blotchy. “Too much waiting?”

At that, she set her lips to a tight-lipped smile, shaking her head. “Do you feel like it is, Mr. Potter?” At his silence, she continued. “What is it that you want to feel, or expect yourself to feel after this time?”

“Like myself again,” he admitted, voice thin, barely a whisper. 

She let him have a pause, his laboured breaths echoing through the walls. After a few minutes or so, she spoke again. “The reason Minerva thought of partnering you and Mr. Malfoy was because she saw something similar between the two of you,” she said. “Did she tell you that?”

He nodded. “She asked the two of you to see me so that I could see of the two of you were actually well enough to go through this…_project_ that she assigned to the two of you,” she stated, looking at him again. “Though I believe that you are far more physically healthier than Mr. Malfoy, I see that the two of you may not be as far in your mental states, if I may put it that way.”

She gave him a few seconds to process this, then she continued. “Mr. Malfoy may have some issues with anger, but I am sure that you are aware of that,” she briefed, to which he nodded. “But I see some wounds in the two of you that both of you have…not allowed to heal or be healed by others.’

To that, he furrowed his brows. Either way, she carried on. “I have diagnosed you both to be ready enough to participate in such a task, but I should ask,” she started, leaning forward, wishing to meet him halfway. “Are you ready?”

He thought about Ron, Hermione, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, and all of his other friends whom he’d allowed to slip between his fingertips. He thought about the time he’d lost and the time he wants back. He thought about how he _wanted_ to get better, without exactly thinking how.He trusted the Professor, and he trusted Madame Pomfrey.

He didn’t really know why, how, and when this would work for good, but he had to take this chance.

_An adventure, she called it_, he thought, mulling it over in his head. However, his heart clenched and he knew that he’d found his answer already.

He nodded, and she smiled. He set off through the doors, chest feeling a little bit lighter than it had before.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated !!
> 
> honestly, while writing i missed them so much aslkdfj it's always good to be back thank uuu !!


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